dying to be borne
voids of thought
from my peopled head
become…
shapes of voice
—once loosed—
that assume lives
all their own
avowed anarchists for-
ever raging against
the suffocating tyranny
of blue horizontals
shameless invisible phantasms
less than vapor shadow
subject to the mindless whim
of the wildly variable wind
who comes and goes
nowhere at the same time
allow me to introduce
the ultimate id:
pure faceless impulse
divorced from psyche
w/ out direction
or conscious intent
a formless vacant identity
guidelessly driven
here there everywhere
hither thither and yon
unwitting victim of
its own remorseless lunacy
might as well toss aside
y’r useless compass
while broken hourglasses
and abandoned clock-towers
pollute the landscape
—
surrendering totally to the un-
known constant
to become
fractals in the equation
that corrupts absolutely
they subvert the superficial grid